Gentleman and the Frog
by ScarlettAngel2
Summary: A little parody on the frog prince, with some comedy and a touch of fluff.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:  
I am changing my lay-out, since this is how most people seem to do it.  
****Enjoy!**

**EDIT: I changed the lay-out so that it fits with my current style.**

xoxox

England was enjoying his afternoon tea while reading the newspaper. It was a lovely day and for once it wasn't raining cats and dogs. America was too busy to pester him, and he hadn't heard of that French frog for quite some time now. England sighed happily, for once completely at peace. That was until a voice caught his ears.

"Angleterre! You must help me!"

England growled and put down his cup of tea. The bloody Frenchman had come to disturb his peace and quiet. England looked up, but France was nowhere in sight. Confused, he turned his head.

"Down here!" the voice peeped, a panicked undertone colouring his words.

England looked down. In front of him sat a frog. A rather scared looking frog. With blond hair.

"Angleterre, something terrible has happened!" the frog whined.

England blinked. He was speechless. While his staring continued, the frog frowned irritated.

"Angleterre, snap out of it! It is me, France!"

For a moment, England remained silent. So, France had turned into a frog?  
His lips curled. This was too good to be true.

"Are you going to keep staring at me like some idiot or-"

France was cut off as England started laughing. France a frog, it was hilarious! Finally he had decided to live up to his nickname!  
England fell out of his chair as his laughter reached a hysterical level. He clenched his sides and felt tears building up behind his squeezed shut eyelids.

France let out an annoyed tsk.  
"Mon Dieu, it is not funny! Stop laughing this instant!"

But England couldn't help himself. His outburst continued another five minutes or so before he finally calmed down. France was looking rather pissed off.  
"Are you finally done?" he asked, frowning angrily.

"Yes, I believe so," England hiccupped. He sat up and finally looked France in the face.  
"So how come you are a frog?" he asked, now curious but still grinning like an idiot.

"It is Prussia's fault! He found one of your spell books, and decided to try it out on me!"

England stopped smiling.  
"That bloody bastard, he must keep his filthy paws off of my personal belongings!"

"Yes, all good and well, but now the book says the only way to break the spell is for someone to kiss me!" France interrupted his complaining.

"So? Why did you not kiss that Prussian thief?" England asked.

"Because he ran away as soon as he read about the cure! And so, because it is your book, I now ask you to take responsibility!"

England stared at him. His eyebrows knit together.  
"No way."

"But you must!" France pleaded.

"I am not doing that. It is Prussia's fault, he should be the one dealing with the consequences."

England started to rise from the ground, but France jumped into his lap. England shrieked and fell backwards.

"You must! Please Angleterre, I don't want to spend the rest of my days in this filthy body! I am far too beautiful for that!"

England shook his head. There was absolutely no way he was going to kiss France. The frog part he could deal with, it was the guy on the inside he had problems with.  
"I am not listening to you!" he growled, and pushed the frog off. He quickly got up and started walking away.

"Angleterre, wait! I beg of you!" France pursued his only hope, but his new body wasn't fast enough.  
"Angleterre!" he cried out one last time, tears leaking out of his eyes. If England wouldn't help him, then he…

England slowed down and looked over his shoulder. France really looked pathetic, big soppy tears running out of those giant frog eyes. England felt disgusted, but also a little… worried.  
Yes, he and France had never been the best of friends. And that was a gigantic understatement. But seeing him in this miserable state made England's heart drop. Even though he hated the bloody bastard, he still pitied his current state. England sighed.

France was sobbing. The only person in the world who could possibly help him had just walked away. If only he knew…

"Stop crying."

France jumped at the sudden sound, and slowly looked up. England stood bent over him, frowning but lightly blushing.

"Alright I will kiss you, but you'd better not try anything you damn frog!" he scowled.

France blinked. Had he really just said those sweet words?

England kneeled down and lifted up France's body. France was now blushing as well. This was really happening!  
England took in a deep breath, and quickly brought France closer to his face. France closed his eyes, awaiting the blessed touch. When nothing happened, France cracked one eye open. England had a smug smile on his face.

"You did not think I was really going to kiss you, were you?"

"Merde! Angleterre, ce n'est pas amusant!" France roared.

England on the other hand found the whole thing pretty hilarious.

"No, I am not kissing you. Instead, I shall take you with me."

France let out a gasp when England shoved the poor thing in his pocket.

"Sacre bleu! Let me out this instant!"

England whistled as he walked up to his house. He went to his basement, where he found a little cage to put the frog in.

"What do you think you're doing?" France whined.

"Even though I will not kiss you, I still want my book back. And once I find that Prussian bastard, I will make sure he'll save you from this… predicament. I will head out in the morning."

France pouted as England started heading back upstairs.

"Oh, and I will provide you with some food, don't worry," England reassured him.

"Dear Lord what did I do to deserve this?" France yelped.

xoxox

It was night time. England was sleeping soundly, knowing the frog was safely locked in his basement. What he did not know, was that when he went to give France his dinner, he accidently left the cage unlocked. So right now, France was slowly making his way up the stairs.

"Stupid Angleterre… Locking me up… I'll show him!"

Luckily he was a frog, so the stairs didn't hold him up for too long. The frog hopped towards England's bedroom, and he silently peeked in. Good, England was fast asleep. France jumped on the bed and made his way to England's head.

"Sweet dreams, mon chéri. I hope they are about moi," France giggled to himself.

When he reached England's face he paused. England really did look more at peace when he was asleep. The frown between his eyebrows was gone, and a light smile played around his lips.  
France took a moment to stare at the man. If only the Englishman knew why France wanted him to be the one to kiss him. He'd lied when he said Prussia ran away. Prussia's kiss would never save him. And only the two of them along with Spain knew why. It was France's darkest secret, one can chose to say.

England mumbled in his sleep and sighed. France smiled. If he wanted to do it, now was the perfect time. The frog quietly crept up to England's lips, and he softly placed a kiss on them. Immediately he felt the effects. His body started growing again, and soon he had regained his human form. England shifted in his sleep from the sudden weight that was now laying on top of him, but France didn't want to move just yet.

"Je t'aime, Angleterre," he whispered, before leaning in for another kiss.

xoxox

England slowly drifted out of his slumber. Something was bugging him, and he wanted to know what it was. As he started to awaken, he felt unusually hot. There was something covering him. And… Was somebody kissing him?!

England was now fully awake. His eyes shot open to look at the perpetrator. France was laying on top of him, naked, and with a dumb blissful expression on his face. The expression quickly changed as England punched him in the face.

"Gaah!" France yelled as he tumbled to the floor.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, you damn frog!" England shouted.  
France wasn't sure if his cheeks were red due to anger or embarrassment.

"I was just breaking the spell!" France tried to explain himself.

But England was a little too aggravated to forgive him.

"Get out of my house!" he yelled, throwing pillows at the Frenchman.

"But, my clothes-"

"I don't care! You should have thought about that before assaulting me!"

France tried to explain he was already naked the moment the spell broke, and therefore England had to give him some clothes, but the other nation was already pushing him down the stairs and onto the street.

"And don't come back!" he yelled, slamming the door shut.

"But… You didn't let me explain anything…" France sighed.

Now England would never know why he wanted to kiss him.

xoxox

England had gotten back his spell book, and had seriously kicked Prussia's ass in the process.

"Damn bastard had better not done anything else," England grumbled while flipping through the book.

He landed on the page that contained the frog spell. Curious, England decided to read it through. When he got to the part on the cure, he froze.

"The one the cursed must kiss is his or her one true love," he read aloud.

His face started heating up as the realisation hit him. France had wanted him to break the spell. He wanted to kiss him. And according to this book, England was…

England's face was beet red by the time he shut the book.

"This has never happened," he said to himself, burying the book in the deepest part of his closet.

xoxox

A long distance away, France sipped his coffee and dreamt about his Angleterre. Would he ever figure out his feelings for him? France sighed, and decided it was better not to say anything.  
Confessing would only break the spell.

xoxox

Words:

Angleterre = England  
Mon Dieu = My God  
Merde = Dammit  
Ce n'est pas amusant = It's not funny/amusing  
Sacre bleu = (insert swearword)  
Mon chéri = My sweet  
Moi = Me  
Je t'aime = I love you


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so all of a sudden, I have inspiration to write a second chapter for this story. I hope you guys like it!**

xoxox

A storm was howling outside. England sat in front of his fireplace, sipping his tea and eating some freshly-baked scones. He stared into the fire and softly sang.

"_Bring on the fire, bring on the hell, set everything ablaze so that no trace remains. Bring on the fire, bring on the hell, set everything ablaze…_" His voice trailed off as he listened to the sounds of moaning trees and Mother Nature turning his garden upside down. He hoped Flying Mint Bunny wasn't too afraid of the occasional flashes of lightning and the roaring drums of thunder.

Then suddenly, he could hear someone knocking at his door.  
'Who on earth could that be, at this late hour?' he thought.

England set his cup aside and got up. His frown deepened as he realized it was probably America. Only he would have the nerve to come bother him when there was a bloody storm raging through his country and-

Oh, right. There was also HIM.

England's frown deepened as he looked at the soaked-to-the-bone Frenchman standing on his doormat. France tried to smile charmingly, but the effects were lost due to him having the appearance of a drowned dog.

"Angleterre, can you let me in? The weather is rather terrible today."

England slammed the door shut in his face.

"S'il vous plait, let me in! I'll get a cold if I stay outside in this weather! I won't leave until you let me in!"

England sighed exasperated. He played with the idea of leaving the Frog outside and see just how long he would keep to his words, but the gentleman in him soon took over. Reluctantly, he opened the door again and stepped aside.

"Merci beaucoup!" France sighed as he quickly ran towards the warm fire.

England tsk-ed at him as he left for his bathroom to go and grab a towel.

"Take off your clothes," he demanded upon returning.

France raised an eyebrow at his comment. "Ohonhonhonhon~ Angleterre, are you that eager to see me naked?" That remark deserved him a towel being flicked in his face.

"Shut up, you bloody Frog! Just get out of those wet clothes and dry yourself, I'll get you something else to wear! You should be happy I even let you into my house at this hour!"

England grumbled as he turned and left for his bedroom in search of some dry clothes to give to the perverted Frenchman.

France sighed. All dirty comments and flirting aside, he truly was happy England was willing to let him in and take care of him. It had already been quite some time since the incident with the spell, and England hadn't changed his behaviour at all. France didn't really mind though. Teasing England was way too much fun, and as long as he got to stay close to his dear Angleterre, he was content. That was exactly the reason he had come today: to play around, and inwardly smile at England's endearing reactions to his flirting.

France slowly peeled off his wet clothes, carelessly tossing them aside. He rather liked the idea of getting to wear something that was England's. If he played it right, he could keep the clothes and take them home. He already had quite the collection of things that once belonged to the British nation. He often used the smell of those clothes to indulge in fantasies~

England returned with an oversized sleeping shirt.  
"I believe you left this here one time you visited. Might as well give it back to you."

France smiled thankfully, but inwardly pouted. Oh well, maybe the shirt would still smell like England seeing as it had spent so long in his house.

"Can't you clean up faster?" England growled. He took the towel out of his hands and started rubbing his hair.

France was happy they faced opposite directions, so that England couldn't see his blush.

"So eager to touch me?" he purred.

England simply rubbed harder, making France yelp in pain. England smirked. "A little touchy-feely are we now?"

France crossed his arms. He was still very much naked, but that didn't seem to faze the Brit. Was England not attracted to him at all? Not even a teensy-weensy bit? Apparently not.

When England was finished, he went to the kitchen to make some more tea, leaving France behind to clothe himself. France stared at his retreating back for a moment, before he got up with a devious smirk. He looked around and found a vaze with a single large red rose. How fitting. He picked up the rose and carefully placed it between his legs. He laughed his perverted little laugh as he walked over to the kitchen, where he leant against the doorframe.

England felt his presence, but didn't turn around.

"What were you thinking anyway, visiting me on such a dreary day? You could have at least called. You know, I was just about to- FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!"

France grinned as England scowled and was blushing furiously, trying not to look at the conveniently placed flower.

"Come on Angleterre, I know you like it~"

"I do not, you stupid wanker! And if you don't put on that shirt, I'm going to throw you out without it!" England growled as he stomped past him, heading back to the living room.

France sighed. 'Oh Angleterre. What am I to do with you?'

xoxox

After some more heated discussions, France finally got dressed. England begrudgingly showed him to his guest room, warning him that if he dared come to his bedroom during the night, he would change his country's entire cuisine so that it would consist only of America's hamburgers. This seemed to shut France up, as England didn't hear of him that night.

However, the next morning when he went to the guest's room to wake France up, he found it was completely empty.

"Frog?" he hesitantly called out. No reaction. Well that was strange.

England went downstairs. Maybe the Frenchman had woken up before him and had made coffee. England had a coffee machine, even though he barely used it himself, because some of his guests simply refused to have tea. England had no idea how one could not like tea, but being the gentleman he was, he had bought a coffee machine to meet up to their requests.

France wasn't in the kitchen. Where on earth was he then?

England opened the door to his garden. The storm had left the country, leaving behind a trail of destruction. Branches were broken off of the trees, flowers had been ripped out of the ground. England sighed as he looked at the ravished garden. It would take a lot of cleaning up to get it nice and neat again. He walked over to the pond at the far back of it. When he reached it, he froze.

A single, large frog was sitting at his pond. England blinked when a wave a familiarity rushed over him.

"…Frog?" he asked. The frog looked at him with his big, round eyes.

Had he really turned himself into a frog again? But why? …Just so he could be kissed by England?

"Listen here, I don't know what you're planning, but I'm not going to bloody kiss you again!"

The frog remained quiet, simply staring at the flustered Brit. England found it hard to break his gaze.

…Maybe it wouldn't hurt to- No! He could not give in to the Frog's wishes! …But, if France had gotten himself to be a frog, he had to help him- No! Don't be ridiculous! There was no way in-

England knelt down, ignoring the screaming in the back of his head. His cheeks flushed a bright pink. Not because of what he was about to do, but because of what he was _feeling_. The frog kept staring, as if tempting him to commit the sin.

The sin of _wanting_ to kiss France.

In one smooth movement, England swooped up the frog and brought it to his lips. It didn't mean anything if it was just to break the spell, right? Only… The frog remained a frog.

England froze as he felt two arms snake their way around his middle. A husky voice whispered in his ear. "Do you want to kiss me that badly, Angleterre?"

England let out a (anything but manly) scream and dropped the frog, who angrily hopped back into the pond.

"Fr- What are- But you, you were a frog!"

He could feel France smirk against his skin. "Nope~ I was just taking a shower. And when I came looking for you, I was met by a rather interesting display…"

France placed a soft kiss in his neck. England yelped and succeeded in pushing him away. He jumped up and raced back to his house.

"Angleterre, wait!"

Damn, damn, _damn_, damn, DAMN! How could he have let himself be swept away by those stupid thoughts he didn't even know existed! Now he had made a complete and utter fool out of himself.

England tried to run up the stairs, but France had caught up to him and grabbed his wrist.

"Angleterre, wait! I have to tell you something!"

England scowled at him, still fiercely blushing.

France swallowed and took in a deep breath. He had to tell him now. Because of that unexpected display, he had been given both hope and the courage to confess. Well, here goes nothing.

"Angleterre, je t'aime. Je t'adore. I love you."

England blinked dumbly. "…Come again?"

France sighed desperately. England had to understand, he simply had to!

"_Britain_," he said. "I have loved you for a very long time now. That is why I always flirt with you, why I cannot keep my hands off you. I love you. I _love_ you."

England kept his mouth shut. France… loved him? Well, actually, he already knew that since that incident, he had just tried to forget all about it. But now France was confessing in such a dramatic way and-

And suddenly France was very,_ very_ close. England was too stunned to push him away.

"So please, can you love me too?" he whispered, before planting a passionate kiss on his lips.

They stood there for a while, neither one wanting to break away. When France finally ended the kiss, he looked at England expectantly, both hope and concern colouring his eyes.

England was beet red. He didn't know what to say. Certainly, he had liked the kiss, but to say that he loved France? He simply didn't know.

France saw his hesitation, and his face fell. He sighed, and let go of the Brit.

"I understand if you do not feel the same way. I just thought you should know."

He turned around, but felt his wrist being grabbed in the same desperate way he had done to the Brit just a couple of minutes ago. He slowly looked over his shoulder, azure eyes meeting bright green ones.

"I… I don't know about love," England said, shifting uncomfortably under France's gaze. "B-but… I do know that you're a bloody good kisser. And don't let that compliment get to your head!" he warned, scowling in that adorable little way of his.

"So?" France asked, waiting for him to continue.

"So… Maybe, we should uhm… T-try that again?"

France smiled as his heart almost flew out of his chest, and happily complied to the request, swooping in for another kiss.

Maybe having been turned into a frog also had its pros. After all, without it, he would have never had the courage to confess to this British Gentleman.

Somewhere outside, a frog croaked indignantly as he still felt like he'd been molested.

xoxox

**I just had to include that last sentence.**

Words:

S'il vous plait : Please  
Merci Beaucoup: Thank you very much  
Je t'adore: I adore you


End file.
